Climb

Climb

Grope at the black

for the dark reduces us

to our hands and knees.

Climb upwards

tuned with chaos

unable to grow numb to

vibrations of pain

echoing cold

through hollowed shells.

Trained to lack trust

in the humble dirt.

Yet we climb.

Yet we climb

this wretched slant

blind in eyes

in heart and in

direction.

Knowing but greed

and unchanneled ambition.

Climb, blind to hope

for anything further than

the next rock on which

to clasp an aching hand.

Climb higher.

Climb higher

until the ground falls flat.

Flat, even surface

no where left to climb.

No where to funnel a false

sense of direction.

No mountain upon which

to grasp.

So black

so flat

so trapped.

Face to the humble dirt

shiver in the vastness

of what cannot be seen.

The dark constricts.

No where to run.

The darkness surrounds.

No where to climb.

The adrenaline of the fight

no longer masks the

deeper aches.

Grope at the black

and find the edge.

The chasm.

The mouth of the Dark

gaping wide in welcoming call.

Sweet seduction, siren song.

Drop into the abyss.

Feed the Dark with

the bitter fruitlessness

of a lost fight.

Curled toes around the

ridged edge.

Sway in the indecision.

Stare blind

into the endless constriction.

Teeter back and forth.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Tipping.

Falling.

Arms wrap
around the fragile torso.
An embrace from nowhere
warm, safe,
foreign to the dark all around.
Pulls back
till feet hit the ground.
Safe.

Hallelujah to the One

who waits

with arms open

to catch us.
Where would we find

our hope if not

in Your arms?